The Lookout
by Yami no Kokoro
Summary: Tag to Molon Labe. "Ever since that harness was ripped off his back last year, everything's been upside down. He's not my little, geek brother anymore... suddenly he's become Superman. And the world stopped making sense." Hal finally tries to deal with his role beside his changed brother... but it might be too late to make a difference.


A/N: Hey everyone! It's been a long time since I've really delved into fanfiction but I got such lovely responses from my Ben fanfic, "Connection", that I thought I'd try for a peek inside Hal's head as well. And really, Falling Skies needs a little extra fanfic love, don't you think?

The Lookout

_I think some little part of me has always doubted Ben was really back, from the second Glass pulled his harness off 'til I saw him being held down in front of that Fishhead yesterday. I know, how many months has it been? How many days of suspicion, of eagle-eyed watching, of doubt? But then, only a few hours after he choked me into unconsciousness and fled our camp, it finally, really hit me: my geek kid brother was home._

_And I was about to lose him again._

_-.-_

Anyone who's got a sibling knows about the dynamic there. Whether you're tight or can't stand each other, spend all your time together or go out of your way to avoid each other it always works the same way. There's this sense of digging out roles, snagging traits, balancing each other out by staking claim to a certain identity. It's not really something you think about, you know? It's just something you know: this is who I am, because it's all the things my brother's not.

In our family, I was the jock. Worked with my hands, killed at sports. Made friends easy and didn't spend much time with the books. Doesn't mean I was dumb – I got decent grades, could've done better if I'd really tried. But books were always Ben's department. Quiet Ben. Shy, studious Ben. Never bothered to pick up a ball unless Dad or I dragged him into it, and when he did he never seemed to know what to do with it. He was one of those kids who dreaded gym class but smiled his way through science lab. Dinner would always be a competition of voices as I bragged my latest scoring record and he babbled about some obscure school fact discovered by Who-the-hell-cares-enstein 20,000 years ago. We drove each other crazy, yeah, but at least we knew where we stood.

But since that harness was ripped off his back last year, everything's been upside-down. He's not my little, geek brother anymore. It's like he's tugged off his glasses (those fake, lens-less glasses he used to wear around the house so he could look like that dork wizard of his). And suddenly he's become Superman. And the world stopped making sense.

I know, stupid, huh? Who knows how many billion people are dead, freaking fish-headed aliens are taking over the world, but my little brother being able to bench press a truck is what screws up my sense of reality.

But more than anything in my whole life – more than my sports records, more than my place in the Resistance or the weight of Dad's approval – I have _always _defined myself against my little brother. Maybe he could run rings around me in science bees or whatever, but I was always the strong one. The one who could throw, lift, run, and fight if need be. I was the one who could always look out for him, could watch his back even if he'd never admit he needed it. More than once, back in school, I'd catch sight of a ripped book, a skinned knee, and without a word to Ben (who'd only deny it) track down the bully who'd been messing with him and make damn sure he wouldn't think about going near my geek brother ever again.

That's the other way I defined myself: as the jock… and Ben's protector.

That hadn't changed when he'd been harnessed. If anything, it only fueled the fire. My brother was in danger. My brother needed protecting. And I hadn't hesitated a second before diving in headfirst, doing everything I could and even battling hand to claw with a Skitter to save him. But when he came back to us, he came back different. He wasn't my geeky brother Ben anymore. Sure, he was still an obnoxious genius, but he was also stronger than me. He wasn't shy now; he was outspoken, determined. A fighter. He could hear things no one else could hear, could perform missions that I'd die four seconds into.

He was good at _everything_, suddenly. And I couldn't figure out where I fit.

And I was glad he was back, don't get me wrong. I'd do it all over again, and anyone who even thought about calling him a Razorback in earshot went into my bad book for good. But some part of me, some insane little voice that creeps up late at night, has always told me that this _can't_ be my Ben. This weird little scientist I didn't even know was living in my head looked at the kid – this superpowered, gun-toting superhero – and started making lists and charts measuring him against the brother I remember: the dork who tripped over his own feet as he walked around the house, a book plastered to his nose. This Ben moves through forests so easily I feel like a clown-footed idiot in comparison. The kid who sat in his room crying after some creep threw his favorite book in the mud. This Ben probably wouldn't bother crying about it; he'd just shoot you in the foot to avenge Harry, or whatever.

The boy who'd left his window open, screen and all, all summer when he was 11 years old. I told him that he was letting bugs in, that it was too hot, that he was being a geek, but he'd only looked back at me with these big, earnest puppy dog eyes, and asked me if he closed the window then how would the owl get in and give him his letter? When he realized he'd have to go back to normal school that fall, he'd spent hours moping around the house, sulking like a little kid. I canceled my date with Kelsey Taylor, dragged him out and (I swear I'll kill you if you ever repeat this), spent my hard earned date savings on that pair of stupid, glass-free glasses for the kid.

And I know he'll never admit it – hell, _I'll_ never admit it out loud - but when we left the store that night and he was actually smiling again, I knew I was his superhero. That's what it's like when you've got a kid brother. You fight like hell, give each other all kinds of crap, but when he's really hurting, when he really needs you, you make it better. No question. No doubt. That's your job.

But when he got back, he could do everything himself. He could jump off a 20 foot building and land on his feet. He didn't need me to catch him 'cause he didn't fall. …So maybe it's not that I didn't trust the new Ben. Maybe it's not that this war-toughed version of my brother is so totally wrong that I thought he _must_ be a Skitter plant. Maybe it's just that being next to the new Ben made me lose track of who _I_ was.

…How sick is that, right? That I was hoping maybe Ben was evil, that he was in danger, that he was _a_ danger, just so I could know what to do with myself?

And then he stepped up to me on that roof, told me he was sorry, and grabbed me faster than I could think to move. Choked me into unconsciousness. And I woke up, gasping, that stupid mini-scientist in my head scrambling around, marking the biggest notes I'd ever seen under the _This Is Not The Way Things Were Before_ column_._ Ben was evil. Ben had betrayed me. This _wasn't_ my kid brother.

I'd thought things would make sense after I knew for sure. That I'd feel… I don't know, better. Vindicated. Dad was going crazy, shouting orders about going after him, saving him, but I knew better. Ben was long gone. He wasn't the perfect superhero, and I had an identity again.

And for about twenty-five minutes I felt sicker than I ever have in my life.

-.-

A Skitter was holding Ben still as we crept along the ridge. A Fishhead in front of him and I swear to God it was smirking. Karen only inches in front of him, holding a harness and trying to convince him as he stood stock-still, terrified, that things would be all better once he was hooked up again.

And maybe I really am just the dumb jock because _that's_ when it all finally made sense to me. Things I'd been seeing all along suddenly snapped into place and I realized I'd been looking at everything backwards. That look in his eyes when he'd apologized… that was the same, earnest look on my eleven year old brother's face when he'd left a window open for an owl. He'd thought his magic school was real, thought it with all of his poor little delusional dork heart. And last night he'd believed in Karen. He'd believed that it wasn't safe for them to stay, that they had to get away no matter what. That is was the only way to protect her, to protect the 2nd Mass. Delusional. Dork. Hero complex.

And ok, so maybe he's stronger than me now. Maybe he can pick me up and toss me like a football, but that doesn't mean that I'm not still supposed to protect him. The bullies are bigger - slimy, clawed, intergalactic creeps who want to piledrive over my brother's consciousness instead of just shoving him in the dirt. But what the hell does that matter? When your brother needs you, you make it better. No question. I don't know how I've been missing it for all these months, days of looking at him suspiciously instead of watching his back. Looking for him to slip up instead of guarding him when he slipped.

But I realize it now. He might be a super-geek, but he still needs me to look out for him. Protect him from all the things in the universe that seem to be aiming a bullseye at his back.

I took the first shot, knocking the harness right out of Karen's hands, and the world was right again.

-.-

That was yesterday. And even with everything that came after it – with Karen smiling past dead eyes, with metal-eating Skitter babies storming the hospital, with Maggie and me becoming… whatever the hell we're turning into now – I've felt more like Hal Mason than I have since Ben came back to us. I've lost almost a year doubting him, doubting myself, but now everything feels right again. It'll all be better from here on out. I'm sure of it.

I'm walking with Matt near the back of the caravan, bracing a gun over my shoulder with one hand, ruffling the kid's hair with the other, when Dad catches up to us. I grin lazily, a comment about him falling behind in his old age starting to slip past my lips before I notice the look in his eyes. He swallows.

"Ben's gone. He's left the Second Mass, boys… I… I don't know if—_when_ he'll be back."

And just like that, I've lost him again.

~Fin


End file.
